


When my lover cries, I feel his tears.

by terracottaheart



Category: Blur (Band)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, M/M, angst at first, graham tops, needy damon, theyre really in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terracottaheart/pseuds/terracottaheart
Summary: Damon has had a little too much to drink and he needs Graham more than he's ever needed anything before.





	When my lover cries, I feel his tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off of Drive You Home by the Verve :) this was supposed to be a lot sadder, but they're cute lil things and I couldn't help but make it end up happy so... enjoy!

The rain is beating down heavily, the sky is black and the moon is bright, but thunder sounds, cracking the earth, and Graham is taking slow sips from the bottle, sitting with his back against the cabinets in his kitchen. It’s routine now, waking up late, starting the day with a bottle, ending the day with a bottle until he’s passing out on the couch or on the floor, very rarely his bed, unless Damon is there. He doesn’t know why or when it got this way, when he relied more on the alcohol in his veins to survive than anything else, or why he couldn’t go more than ten minutes without that hole in his chest deepening, and sometimes he really did wonder if he was alive or just floating in some immortal atmosphere. He thinks back to his lover, the one who saves him over and over, the one he wakes up for and struggles through the day for, but where is he right now when Graham needs him most?

Damon is staggering down the sidewalk, drunk out of his mind and eyes red from the tears that had fallen earlier, mixed in with the raindrops coating his skin and ruining his hair and clothes, but he couldn’t care less. The only thing that had been on his mind was Graham, those sweet eyes and that pale body so warm against his every time they laid together, and the mingling of their breaths and limbs and souls, and Damon is sure that if Graham didn’t exist, he’d be dead by now. 

He’s at the front door and struggling to unlock it with the key Graham had given him, and his eyes are welling up again from frustration and need and love and hate (for himself), and it’s too much at one time, the keys are falling to the ground, his head is pressed against the door and there’s a sob that he can’t even hear because the thunder is cracking again, and the sky is lit up by a bolt of lightning. He raises his fist to hit on the door, not much force is used because he feels so weak, completely rid of energy and excitement and left with a soul that’s barely alive. But Graham hears it, Graham always hears him, and he’s standing up to go open the door, leaving the bottle on the counter because he knows it would only make Damon upset. 

“Damon?” He asks, brows furrowing and he stares for a moment before pulling him in by his jacket, Damon unable to meet his eyes, feeling foolish and immature and like he could pass out any second from the overbearing pain in his chest. “What - why are you here?”

Damon wonders if Graham wants him to leave, and that only makes another sob escape from his sore throat, and Graham’s heart is breaking apart rapidly. 

“I wanted to - I wanted to come see you,” his voice slurs, but he tries so hard because he wants Graham, needs Graham more than anything, and their eyes finally meet. It’s intense and sad, and both are obviously intoxicated, and this is how their relationship is, but that’s okay. It’s theirs, and that’s all they need. 

“C’mon, you’re soaking,” Graham mumbles, and he doesn’t know how either of them can make it up the stairs, but they manage, and Graham finds Damon some dry clothes to put on while Damon stands around awkwardly, which Graham doesn’t understand because Damon practically lives there. Just before Damon can turn around, Graham grabs his wrist and pulls him to the bathroom, turning the water on in the tub and plugging it once the temperature is just right. 

Damon has to swallow another sob as he watches, hating himself even more because Graham is so perfect and Damon is dirt compared to him, and why couldn’t Graham love himself the way Damon loves him? _ If he did, he’d leave me. _

He strips down, and Graham stares at his thin frame with love lighting up those eyes that Damon wishes he could live in, even though Graham has tried to convince him that he already does, and it makes Damon feel a little self-conscious because it isn’t lust filled and Graham is seeing his soul through his skin, and he knows it isn’t pretty. He’s never understood how that angel,  _ his angel _ , could see him that way, pale and brittle and bruised and still be able to whisper those three words.

The water warms his body racked with chills from the rain in the October cold, the drugs, and the booze, but nothing can soothe him the way Graham sitting on his knees beside the tub does, his fingertips brushing along the bony chest of his lover, and it makes Damon want to cry all over again, but he’s frozen in Graham’s gaze. 

“I’ve missed you,” Damon whispers, voice hoarse and Graham wants to go make him some hot tea, but he can’t bring himself to move, to leave that boy with the puppy eyes and pink lips and red cheeks from the crying and now the steam rising from the water. He’s so in love, and hearing those words bring him to another world, the world him and Damon share, where they can be free and hold hands and maybe get married, and Graham is the one that wants to cry now.

“You could’ve come over,” Damon nods and he has to look away because he could have come over and he didn’t, and he left Graham alone with that bottle, and  _ it’s all my fault, all my fault,  _ but Graham doesn’t think so, and he knows how Damon is. “And you did, you’re here now.” He has to reassure him, the hurt that flashed in his eyes was enough to end Graham, and he couldn’t have that, he couldn’t be the cause of that pain, and he was here to help Damon, to love him, and he knew Damon was there to do those things for him, just differently.

Damon doesn’t say anything because there’s no excuse for his absence other than he’s a piece of shit and gets too caught up in his insecurities to be there for the person he loves most. But Graham doesn't push, and Damon is thankful for that. Instead he just grabs a rag and the bar of soap, lathering the washcloth up before starting to gently wash Damon’s chest, his heart aching from how bony it was. He was getting too skinny. 

“Graham”

“Hm?”

“I - tonight, could you.. Could you -” he sighs and shakes his head, looking away from Graham, whose heart has sped up and jumped and skipped. He knows exactly what Damon is trying to ask for, and the fact that he’s attempting to verbalize it makes Graham fall even more in love, and he nods, leaning in to press the lightest of kisses to Damon’s temple.

“I’ve got you,” Graham assures him, and Damon’s eyes well up again and he keeps them cast down so his lover can’t see, doesn’t ever want him to see the tears he can spill. He’s too pure, too angelic, and Damon can’t corrupt him like that, he won’t let himself.

Graham finishes washing Damon up with the gentlest of touches, and Damon just stares at him the entire time, which makes the boy flush, but it’s a beautiful contrast against his pale skin, and the pink highlights every little freckle and those specks in his eyes are brighter than ever before.  _ Too good for me, too beautiful for me  _ Damon tells himself, but he doesn’t believe it because he knows Graham was made for him and that their souls were engraved with each other’s names.

The tub is draining and Damon stands shivering in a towel while Graham takes his wet clothes to the laundry room, but he’s soon back in sight and he leads Damon into his room, taking the towel from him to dry off the water droplets rushing down his chest from his neck, and then Graham is on his knees to dry his legs, but there’s a kiss to the head of his cock, and  _ oh _ , Damon sucks in a breath and his knees nearly buckle. Graham pushes the towel away and grabs the frail hips of his lover to pull him closer, lips wrapping around his tip and sucking just barely, tongue prodding against the slit the way Damon liked.

“Graham,” he breathes and it brushes down the nape of Graham’s neck, right into his soul and it almost pulls his heart out, but he manages, and he’s taking Damon further into his mouth, a shaky moan spilling from those lips that Graham would sell his soul for. He’s teasing a little more, licking at the head like it’s a cherry flavored sucker, but it’s all lighthearted and full of love, and Damon can’t complain, can’t bring himself to beg for more because he has Graham on his knees, and that’s all he could ever ask for.

But the singer doesn’t ever have to ask for more. Graham knows what he wants, what he needs, and he stands up to connect his lips with Damon’s, who is already opening his mouth to welcome in his guitarist’s tongue. It’s slow and sweet but so hot and wet and it’s getting harder to breathe, but they’re both living for it, and Graham moves them towards the bed so he can lay Damon down.

“Love you so much,” Graham breathes down his throat, and Damon groans, pushing his hips up so he can feel that solidity in the jeans that Graham has yet to take off, and it bothers him so much that there isn’t skin on skin connection, so he’s fingering the button and zipper while Graham fucks his mouth with his tongue.

Damon doesn’t have to say it back - Graham knows - and he’s showing it with his hand that’s pushed inside the denim, that physical representation of adoration and desire enough to fulfill Graham’s need for reassurance. His wrist is is twisting as he strokes, and his brunette baby is pulsing in his hand and pushing against the touch, and Damon is close to taking everything over, but he needs to submit, and Graham needs him to submit. He needs him to give himself, open up, bloom. 

He stands up to discard himself of his clothing, and Damon moves to rest against the pillows, legs spreading bashfully, self-consciously, and Graham wants to take a picture and frame it and hang it over his bed, _ fuck, he’s so beautiful.  _ When he’s bare, he climbs onto the bed and he rests on his knees between his lover’s legs, watching how they instinctively spread further,  _ just for me _ , flowering, sprouting, Graham’s very own Garden of Eden,  _ Garden of Damon.  _

Two fingers are dancing up Damon’s chest to his mouth, his lips parting to take them in to suck and lick, eyelashes fluttering shut because he was too shy and this wasn’t his normal role, but it made Graham only adore him more that he was willing to try, to sink into that depth of uncertainty. Once they’re slick and ready, Graham takes them out and he leans over to kiss those lips so sweet it nearly makes Damon cry, but he’s too focused on the way Graham is prodding at his hole with the tip of his index finger. One little  _ shh _ and Damon knows it’s all okay, he’ll be gentle, and the finger is pushing in slowly, almost too slow, even for Damon (who definitely wasn’t a regular at being on the receiving end), but he’s thankful and he lets out a soft breath to let Graham know  _ it feels good, it’s nice. _

“More,” Damon mumbles, voice so soft that Graham smiles a little and he pulls the finger out to the tip before pushing it back in along with his middle finger, and Damon has to swallow to stop from wincing or tightening up, wanting to keep himself relaxed. Everything was better like that, everything was better with Graham.

Soon there’s a moan spilling into the silent air, and the singer’s hips are pushing to try and get Graham to go deeper, he needs  _ more, more _ , and Graham can’t refuse, but he has to make sure he’s prepared, couldn’t live with himself if he hurt that boy.

“So beautiful,” and Damon is blushing, doesn’t want to, but it’s different coming from Graham, it’s sincere and real and he feels so fucking pretty every time he’s looked at that way by those eyes. 

“ _ Graham _ ,” he whines and pushes his hips up again, and now Graham can’t refuse anymore because his cock is twitching and nearly leaking as he watches the boy writhe around, his body pleading for more of  _ anything _ , just something to get him off. Something to make him feel wanted, needed. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Graham is assuring him, and they both want to laugh like adolescents in the midst of puberty, but they refrain, though there are glints of smiles on both of their mouths, and everything feels right. 

He would reach into the nightstand and grab the lube that Damon uses on him often, but Damon likes it raw, likes to feel Graham for everything that he is, and he can’t complain about that — no girl could ever give him that, just Damon. It was all Damon, today, yesterday, and tomorrow. But he can’t be too hard on the boy,  _ his  _ boy, so he at least spits into his hand and strokes his cock, sighing at the contact. Then he’s leaning down and spitting on Damon’s hole that had closed back up, and Damon whimpers just barely and his back arches, and it’s so beautiful, and Graham is fucking wrecked. 

“Gra-“

“I’ve got you, babe, I’m here -“ and he’s pushing in slowly, so slowly, and it’s filling Damon up perfectly, and he wonders if anybody’s cock could ever compare to Graham’s, and he concludes  _ no. _

“ _ Fuck _ ”

“ _ Jesus Christ _ ”

They’re trembling from the pleasure, from the heat of each other and the feeling of skin on skin, from becoming one in a physical sense, ‘cause they were soulmates and this was just their way of proving that, of providing evidence to support their claim. 

Graham is all the way in, balls pressed up against Damon’s skin, and it makes the singer shudder and bite his lip, eyes closed since he’s too shy to look up at his angel, too bashful to make eye contact with his cock prodding at that spot deep inside. He’s letting out shameless noises that are muffled by his teeth dug into the lower flesh of his mouth, and he can’t stop because Graham is barely moving, just applying more and more pressure to that spot and,  _ fuck _ , Damon can’t handle it. He’s gonna come too soon, but it’s okay because it’s all Graham wants. 

Finally Graham lets up, shows him a little mercy, and he starts to pull out, pushing back inside, but it’s so slow and if Damon hadn’t been so sad earlier, he’d be growling and telling him to hurry up. But if Damon hadn’t been so sad earlier, they’d be in opposite positions. Right now, though, he’s getting fucked and moaning like a girl might, but it’s deeper and guttural and it makes Graham clench his jaw, fingertips digging into Damon’s hips, and he’s sure he’s gonna leave bruises. The thought only makes his cock pulse, more heat rushing down to his anatomy, and it doesn’t help that Damon is tightening around him, the loudest moan of the night sounding from that thin body so spread out and stretched. 

“Love you,” Graham pants again because he can’t help himself. He’s so in love, absolutely drowns in the feeling everyday of his life, from the very moment he wakes up it’s all about Damon and everything will always be about Damon because that’s his man, that’s his soulmate, he’s pretty sure they’re the same person sent to look at each other from different bodies. 

“Me too,” it comes out as a moan and Graham is even more in love, his hips start moving faster, and he’s rocking the bed back and forth along with Damon’s body, and it’s more beautiful than it was a moment ago, and it keeps becoming more and more beautiful as the moments pass, and it’s too fucking much. 

He’s hitting that spot with every thrust, and Damon whimpers and whines and groans and squirms like a whore, but it’s too real and too desperate, and Graham is no different, pinning his lover’s body down to take and use as he pleases because he owns him and he belongs to him.  _ Please don’t let me go, don’t let me go. _

Damon grabs onto his arms because he’s gotta touch him or he’ll go insane, and Graham is about to stroke his red and aching dick, but Damon is pushing his hand away and he should have known because Damon likes it natural and he likes to come from Graham’s cock and his cock alone. And it isn’t long before he’s doing that — his back is arching beautifully, looking like some kind of Greek sculpture, and those eyebrows are knitted together as Damon struggles to keep his noises buried within his throat, but they all spill over, as does rope after rope of his cum, coating his stomach and Graham’s thumbs from where they still rest on his hips. He’s moaning out his lover’s name, and Graham can’t hold back, it’s too good, it’s been too long since he’s been inside, and he’s there,  _ he’s there _ , and  _ fuck _ , he’s pumping his release into Damon’s trembling body, and it’s never felt as good as it just did, like he was on some other plane of life, like he was high, and if he didn’t know better, he’d believe he was. 

“Damon, fuck,” he grunts, his head leaning to the side as he slows his movements down, pushing his cum further into the boy beneath him, and Damon is whimpering and the tip of his finger is in his mouth, and Graham knows he wants to suck on it but he’s too prideful to look that shameless.

“Graham.. Graham,” he reaches out for him with shaky hands and pulls him down so he can hold him close and nuzzle against his neck and kiss his skin, and he loves his angel so much, loves him more than anything, and he has Graham smiling like an idiot because it’s just sunshine all around. 

Graham is pulling out of the limp body of his partner and falling to the side of him, resting an arm over his forehead as he tries to catch his breath, his grin never fading, and how could it? He has Damon, he has his light and his darkness and his strength and his weakness, his fucking soulmate. Damon is his moon and his sun, and he shines as bright as both, and that light is moving into Graham’s side to rest his head on his chest, and God, it’s perfect. It’s all so perfect and always is because it’s them, it’s always them, together, forever. 


End file.
